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November 7, 2004
The final countdown
Brigadier (r) A.R. Siddiqi describes the confusion which gripped army headquarters in December 1971 when the war in East Pakistan was lost
On December 15, Indian paratroopers landed at Jamalpur, some thirty miles north of Dhaka. The GOC of the leading Indian division, Major-General Nagra, was physically in Narayanganj and his staff was in touch with Niazi discussing the modalities of surrender.
For the past few days the Indian Army chief, General Sam Maneckshaw, had been addressing our frontline troops through loudspeakers, telling them to surrender unconditionally and be treated “honourably as PoWs under the Geneva Convention or face massacre”. Leaflets, in hundreds of thousands, were also being dropped from the air, ordering surrender. There was no question of a conditional ceasefire — the choice was between unconditional surrender and death. One leaflet bluntly warned: “If you do not surrender, we will hand over all your prisoners to Mukti Fauj for butchery”.
At about the same time, the necessity and wisdom of psychological operations was still being discussed at the GHQ to raise the morale of the frontline soldiers in East Pakistan on the one hand, and to tell India off on the other. The question was how to reach the frontline soldiers fighting desperately for their survival; even more importantly, how to get the message heard in the midst of the thunder of the battlefield...
While the details of the psychological operations were still being worked out at the GHQ, news came of General Niazi’s acceptance of an unconditional surrender. Until just about a couple of days earlier, he had boasted in front of the foreign correspondents at the Inter Continental that the Indians would have to drive a tank over his body to enter Dhaka.
December 16 dawned on a doleful, funereal note for Pakistan. Foreign networks, mainly the BBC, the villain of the piece, had even announced the details of the surrender parade scheduled for that afternoon. Communication between the GHQ and the Eastern Command, extremely erratic since December 11, had been totally cut off. No one knew as to when, how and who, might have accepted unconditional surrender.
Until about 4 pm on December 16, we were still at sixes and sevens about the accuracy of the news and how to break it officially. Gul Hassan was not available, so I contacted Major-General Shaukat Riza, deputy chief of the general staff. “We must catch the 5 pm news bulletin,” I urged. Shaukat agreed, suggesting that we should go to the information secretary and seek his views.
We drove to his Chaklala office to find him and his senior officers in a huddle, looking utterly confused. He had been in constant touch with the foreign secretary, Sultan Mohammad Khan, who, in turn, had little to add to what we had all heard over the BBC. We phoned the military secretary to the president, Major-General Ishaque, hoping to have a word with the president. Ishaque brusquely told us that the ‘old man’ had just retired to catch a wink of sleep and could not be disturbed. That left nothing for us to do, except to put our heads together, and produce a 26-word draft as follows:
Under an arrangement between the commanders of India and Pakistan in the eastern theatre, Indian troops have entered Dhaka and fighting has ceased in East Pakistan.
So that was the end of the burlesque, which began at midnight on March 25-26, 1971, ending on the afternoon of December 16, 1971. A reprieve of full nine months — long enough to correct the course — had been cold-bloodedly and cussedly wasted away. The news of the unconditional surrender was still echoing thunderously — each repetition gaining in volume and resonance — when Yahya came on air, to tell the nation that the war would continue. He called the fall of Dhaka “a temporary setback in one theatre of war, which by any means did not signify the end of the struggle. We may lose a battle, but final victory in this war of survival shall Inshallah be ours”.
That was on the 16th. On the morning of the 17th, copies of the draft constitution of a united Pakistan were distributed by the press department of the information ministry. The text of the draft was to be broadcast by TV and radio networks at 7 pm. I went to Gul Hassan for his advice and orders. My own view was that this should be ‘killed’ there and then. Riza also joined and we all agreed to stop the broadcast at all events. Gul Hassan directed us to see Roedad Khan and so the two of us, Riza and I, drove out to Chaklala again. The information secretary was in the midst of a meeting with his media chiefs, finalizing measures to ensure airing the summary of the draft constitution as programmed. “Well, what’s up now?” he asked as he stood up to receive us.
“The summary is not going on air!” Riza replied promptly.
“But how can that be? That’s a presidential command!” Roedad said. He contended that as ‘a civil servant’ he was duty-bound to carry out the orders given to him by the president himself.
“Nothing doing!” was our joint answer. East Pakistan was no longer there. Our forces had already surrendered to the Indians and were under their protective custody. India and the USSR had already recognized Bangladesh. Where then was the rationale for the constitution of one Pakistan that had ceased to exist? After a heated exchange, we left Roedad’s office. Riza said that he would take it up with Gul Hassan. The broadcast had to be stopped at all costs.
After dropping Riza at the GHQ, I drove back home. PTV and Radio Pakistan repeatedly interrupted their regular programme to tell the listeners that a major announcement would be made at 7 pm. The programme opened on time, primed by the usual recitation from the Holy Quran. With the recitation over, the anchor announced that the scheduled major announcement had been held up due to ‘technical reasons’. That was that — our successful ‘coup d’radio’.
I walked over to Gul Hassan’s house soon after that to have a word with him about the next move. As I entered his drawing room, I saw Air Marshal Rahim and Shakirullah Durrani, managing director, PIA, one or two ADCs, and some others. I hesitated, somewhat unsure whether or not to excuse myself and leave when Gul Hassan asked me to come in.
They were in the middle of an animated discussion about who should be the next boss. Rahim was for his former chief, Air Marshal (retired) Asghar Khan. Gul Hassan was all for Bhutto. He went on to rebut Rahim on his preferred choice of Asghar Khan. “How can you even think of a person defeated by a bloody corporal in the elections, sir?”
As it so happened the PPP candidate, Khurshid Hassan Meer, had defeated Asghar Khan by a wide margin of 40,000 votes in a Rawalpindi constituency. Meer had served as a corporal in the Royal Indian Air Force during the Second World War. Pressing his argument in Bhutto’s favour, Gul Hassan said, “I am afraid that we are left with no choice but to try this joker, Bhutto. After all, he is now the leader of the majority party...”
At this point, Shakirullah Durrani intervened, “You don’t seem to realize, Gul, what you’d be in for once you have Bhutto as the boss. The sort of person that he is he would ‘Fix you up’ at the first available opportunity.”
“I would rather go along with Durrani Sahib as far as Bhutto is concerned!” I dared put in.
Just then, the ADC to the air chief came running in to tell him that the president wished to see him immediately at the President’s House. Rahim stood up promptly to leave and we all stood up with him. I asked Gul’s permission to depart as well.
On the afternoon of the 18th, the unilateral ceasefire offered by the Indian prime minister, Indira Gandhi, in the western theatre, was accepted by Yahya under President Nixon’s personal advice. The GHQ was working out the modalities of the ceasefire, in consultation with GHQ, India. There was an uproar in the country against the army, focussing on Yahya Khan and his drunken sex orgies. It had hardly been as violent as might well have been expected, considering the apocalyptical nature of the national disaster. The loss of East Pakistan might, indeed, have been a good riddance. What appeared to be uppermost in people’s mind was the safety of the Pakistani PoWs and their speedy repatriation.
I went to see Gul Hassan first thing the next morning, December 19, to find him a broken man. “There is serious trouble in Kharian. Officers of the 6 Armoured Division are up in arms against their divisional commander. They phoned me to ask me to come and see things for myself. I told them to come here instead... let’s wait and see. This could be my last day in the office. I am right now in the middle of cleaning up this mess...” he said, pointing to the drawers of his desk which he was busy cleaning out. “Wait for my next call. The boys are on their way and should be here soon.”
I left his office and returned to my own. There was not much to do except work on one or two press releases regarding the state of the ceasefire which was still fluid, as could be expected.
There was no call from Gul Hassan for the rest of the day. The next morning, December 20, I called the CGS, wondering as to what might have happened in the meantime. Major Javed Nasir answered, “Sir, I am worried myself about the old man. You know Mr Bhutto has arrived and it seems there is a war of succession going on right now at the President House.”
Things had definitely taken an ugly turn, as indeed could be expected after all that had happened. Just then a circular arrived, saying that COS General Abdul Hamid Khan would be addressing officers of the rank of lieutenant colonel and above at noon at Ayub Hall. About half an hour or so later, another circular was delivered replacing the words ‘lieutenant colonel and above’, with ‘all available garrison officers’ to attend the COS’s address.
I reached the auditorium at around 11.45 am, to find it packed to capacity. Three PSOs, Major-General Khuda Dad (Adjutant-General), Major-General Osman Mitha (Quartermaster-General) and Lieutenant-General Khawaja Wasiuddin (Master-General of Ordinance), were all there in the front row.
Only Gul Hassan was missing, which exacerbated my fears about his personal safety. A minute before the stroke of 12 noon, however, Gul entered looking somewhat ‘deliciously tired’, I thought, like one at the end of a day’s hard but rewarding work. At about the same time, General Hamid entered from the speaker’s entrance followed by an aide. He stood behind the lectern, surveyed the audience, cleared his throat and began to address the gathering. A shakier speech could not have been expected from a man of such a high rank. It was a long and rambling apology for the top planners in the army and in the administration. The country, he said, was passing through “a grave and most serious crisis, but let us be men enough to face it”.
From the benches and the public galleries in the rear were heard muffled angry murmurs from the young officers, i.e. lieutenant colonels and below. It was impossible for any one sitting in the front seats to make out what they were saying but the mood itself was eloquent enough to obviate the need for words. The atmosphere was explosive like a live volcano ready to erupt. The top brass looked isolated and totally cut off from the rank-and-file. It looked as if the force was already divided into two uneven factions — the bigger one representing the rest whereas the top brass was isolated as a small minority. The junior officers were up in arms against the generals. Hamid began:
“The country is passing through a serious and disturbing crisis, never before faced in the country. As a result of the happenings in the country, particularly those in East Pakistan, the people are grief-stricken, depressed and confused. It has also resulted in a lot of recrimination amongst the people.
“The facts of the situation are very disheartening. But we should be men enough to face the stark realities. We must match up to the challenge of the time, otherwise we are doomed. What is required is to have a realistic reappraisal of the problems coolly and calmly. We need determination and resolution to overcome them.”
When he said, “The president did his best for a political solution...” the angry backbenchers burst into deafening chants of ‘shame, shame’ mixed liberally with certain expletives.
At one point, Hamid broke down and withdrew from the auditorium. The general impression was that much of Hamid’s show of shame and grief was a put on. His actual mission was to gauge the tempers of the young officers (hence the change in invitation from lieutenant colonel and above to all available officers), and, if favourable, to delay the transfer of power, or arrange it on more favourable terms like the return of Yahya back to the GHQ or his replacement by Hamid as the army chief. Bhutto would consider neither; the rough house, during and after Hamid’s address, proved to be the last straw to break the Yahya-Hamid back.
Surprisingly, however, the fury and anguish of the raucous backbenchers, besides the personal misconduct and corrupt practices of senior officers, focussed more on the safety of the PoWs and their speedy repatriation than on the loss of East Pakistan per se. The loss of the eastern half was accepted, more or less, as a fait accompli.
As we dispersed, Radio Pakistan announced the news that Yahya had resigned and Mr Bhutto had taken over as the CMLA, president, and the supreme commander. Curiouser and curiouser — a civilian and a democrat donning the hat of the CMLA! Later, in the evening, Bhutto appeared on TV to address the nation. He announced the immediate retirement from the army of some twenty senior armed forces officers including Yahya and Hamid. Lieutenant-General Gul Hassan Khan was appointed the army chief in the same rank. Air Marshal Rahim Khan retained his job as the air chief and was placed a notch above the army chief in the order of precedence.
Excerpted with permission from
East Pakistan the Endgame: An Onlooker’s Journal 1969-1971
By Brigadier (r) A. R. Siddiqi
Oxford University Press,
Plot # 38, Sector 15, Korangi Industrial Area, Karachi
Tel: 111-693-673
Email: ouppak@theoffice.net Website: www.oup.com.pk
ISBN 0 19 579993-3
260pp. Rs395
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